


Could This Be Out Of Line?

by BigScaryDinos



Category: Stockholm Syndrome - Richard Rider
Genre: Age Difference, Blood, Blood Kink, Blow Jobs, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Gun Kink, Gun Violence, How Do I Tag, I Don't Even Know, M/M, Not Beta Read, Not Canon Compliant, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Slapping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-16
Updated: 2021-01-16
Packaged: 2021-03-13 16:27:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28781229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BigScaryDinos/pseuds/BigScaryDinos
Summary: Lindsay totally understands that Pip has a set of kinks that he may or may not agree with; but they still have games to play.OR Lindsay might finally pull the trigger.
Relationships: Lindsay Brown/Phillip "Pip" Valentine





	Could This Be Out Of Line?

“What would you do to me, ya’ know. If you could.” 

“I could do anything to you.” Lindsay says, not bothering to look up from his paper. Until this moment it had seemed the two were in a semi-comfortable silence, but it’s all broken now. Once they start talking it doesn’t seem to have a natural end, it just keeps up. 

“Uh-huh. Ya’ know that aint true.” Pip is sitting on the floor in nothing but his favorite pair of grey pants painting his toenails an awful shade of purple that looks somehow like fungus. Something that would sprout up between the toes of a dead man. 

“What are you playing at?” Lindsay tries to continue to read what he would otherwise be interested in but finds the words bounce off of him. He’s coined the term  _ smooth brain  _ for the moments like this; when Pip just being around Lindsay becomes too much. Too much to the point where Lindsay can’t retain anything leaving him feeling like there isn’t anything inside his head but basic human functions. Pip does the same thing coke does. Different names for the same kind of addiction of self destruction. Lindsay does think the little brat makes him stupider than coke ever did though. 

“Aint playing at nothing.” The kid’s hair is all messy inside a half undone bun, the black oily strands that have fallen out stick to the back of his sun warmed neck. One long strand of red sticks to his ear like an afterthought. It seems like it’s been ungodly hot every day since they’ve gotten out here. With no end in sight it’s easier to just accept the heatwave as part of life and move on, which was exactly what Lindsay was trying to do before he was interrupted. “Ya’ know exactly what I mean.” 

“Obviously not, otherwise why would I ask?” Lindsay gives up, folding the paper in half and setting it on the floor to keep his eyes glued to Pip’s back, watching the thin skin over mangey muscles. If somebody dropped him off in the middle of a farm field he wouldn’t know what to do, all pretty and pretentious with shoulder blades that might spout a set of white angel wings at any time. That might be a way to get rid of him - hard labor, Lindsay tacks it onto a mental list of ways to force the unwanted guest out of his home. 

“I meant what I said. Jesus, you’ve gone fuckin’ daft today. If you could do anything to me what would ya’ do?” The stress is placed on all the words, mostly the word anything. It seems as if he’s put on ten coats of the same paint on the same toe. Maybe the kid’s brain is just as smooth as Lindsay’s is sometimes. The silence stretches on a few seconds, no longer anything close to comfortable. Valentine seems to understand the big toe has got enough attention finally before he moves onto the next nail. “Anything at all.” 

“Like fuck you? Is that it?” It’s too hot to play games, not like it isn’t always too hot. The kid sighs like Lindsay’s answered incorrectly. He was sure that was where this was leading. To another dirty game the two would play, Lindsay unwilling until he found himself with Pip’s come on his stomach and muffling his screams in the younger’s neck with his own cock buried in the younger’s ass. “I already do that. Whenever I want, thanks very much.” 

“No, Mista’ Brown. You got  _ no _ problem doing that.” 

Then that was a wrong hit. This seems like odd ground, unbalanced in some way that Lindsay can’t put his finger on. In the short time the two have known each other it seems Pip has few moods, being childish, fucking, sleeping, eating. Sometimes he tucks away and paints something or writes what Lindsay can only imagine to be awful poetry. Those are neutral moods, like walking by the cliffs or driving down to town. This doesn’t seem neutral. This seems like something undiscovered. 

“Right.” 

“Right.” Comes the mimic, trying the touch of Welsh accent into his voice. “Okay, like, ya’ know. Things ya’ don’t do.” The eye roll is audible from across the room. Lindsay feels as dense as a pound cake. He wants to pick his paper back up, pick a page and read about stocks and football and all kinds of local affairs he could care less about. Valentine works on another toe. The two stay silent for a little longer. “Things we both know ya’ aint gonna do.”

For an awful second Lindsay thinks he’s been found out; this ugly feeling inside his gut that tells him he likes this annoying child much more than he should. A bone deep ache for Valentine that he isn’t sure he’s ready to admit to himself. Then it seems to chill even further down when sometimes clicks. This isn’t about liking somebody let alone loving them. He uses his words carefully. 

“Are you asking about me killing you?” 

To anybody else, to any other normal human this conversation would have been taken one of two ways. A joke that ended with a punchline that may or may not be funny or a serious threat. This isn’t either of those. This is something else. Valentine’s shoulders stiffen for a second; not in discomfort. It’s most like he’s just listening closer, waiting for the next words out of Lindsay’s mouth. Lindsay does not feel like letting any more words come out. He feels like staying silent forever. 

“Well, we both know ya’ aint gonna do that.” 

“What are you even talking about?” 

“You can’t. I seen it in your eyes. But it’s fine.” Lindsay’s eyes can’t pull from the bumps that pop up across Pip’s bare shoulders. It’s too hot to be a chill. It’s an ugly sight, seeing this kid who should be out having whoever he wants instead sitting at the edge of the world talking about how the man behind him would kill him if he could. It’s sadder to think there’s some misfiring inside the damaged brain that wants to have this conversation, spurs these topics on. Lindsay inches himself from his seat and to the floor beside his discarded paper. A part of him wants to hold the younger man, try to make up for years of damage in one comforting cuddle. Only one part. There’s a different part that seems to rear its ugly head in moments like this. 

“What do you want me to tell you?” On the floor it feels more like an even playing field, removing the upper hand from the older man’s deck. It’s an unfair move to make, to bring the two together in this time of turmoil. The scale seems dangerously unbalanced with the fear things might be broken forever. Lindsay wonders a lot of things about Valentine. Not limited to when he got so fucked up, what made him turn from a normal kid who looked at tits or asses and turned to looking at weapons instead. 

“Just wanna know I guess.” 

Lindsay inches closer across the ground like a kid at camp, nearing the firepit to tell a particularly heinous ghost story. He can’t seem to stop until his bare knees touch the sweat slicked skin that remains suspiciously stock still, toenails only half finished, bottle of polish set down and forgotten for the time being. It feels too intimate in a sick way to admit he hasn’t done this before, the actual killing. Only a lot of bellowing about it, empty threats, warning shots into the midnight sky. 

“I don’t know. There’s too many options.” Stalling. It’s too hot to touch each other but Lindsay can’t  _ not _ touch him, his thin cotton shirt clinging to the beads of sweat across Pip’s back once they connect. It turns them both sticky and wet. Valentine is all stiff inside his arms as they wrap around him, holding his frail chest too tightly. The kid always feels so small. Realistically he would not be difficult to kill. A perfect first. Somebody who is rather literally asking for it.

“Run some choices by me.” The kid has tells. One day Lindsay will learn all this talk of murder is one large red sign that pops up from time to time. It means that if things don’t get violent he’ll never be satisfied. Maybe one day Lindsay will learn how to talk that mood down - today under the hot sun is not that day. Today is a day for indulging. 

“I could shoot you.” Lindsay says it dryly, something he’s said more times than he could count. He’s pulled out his gun, waved it in the kid’s face, yet it never mattered. The pair understand the difference between a show and pulling the trigger. “I could shoot you here, right here.” Lindsay plants a kiss against the nape of Pip’s neck. It tastes like salt and soap. “Could make you brain dead - like you aren’t already.” He stops himself from sinking his teeth into the soft skin even though he already can hear the sound Valentine would make. Lindsay doesn’t want to get hard, not when they’re talking about bullets in the brain - but his lips taste what is in front of him again finding it harder and harder to keep himself sane. 

“Wow, that’s well creative. Never heard that one before.” 

“Shut up. You asked.” Valentine lets out the most petulant little whine that sounds like nails on a chalkboard so Lindsay decides to bite after all. It turns the sound musical like bells. Lindsay finds his teeth deeper than intended. There is something that sparks inside him with Pip around. As cliche as it would sound it’s like a wolf or something else, some great beast waiting in the dark to clench a fist around his throat and throttle him. Lindsay finds as much as it made him stop at first he  _ wants  _ to hurt the kid. He’s never felt this way about anyone else. It’s like holding a baby bird inside your palm with the knowledge you can crush it anytime. The real power comes from knowing when to hold back. 

This is not that time. 

Pip squirms against the hold, his head falling back against Lindsay’s while he melts into the bite. The delicious pressure against Pip’s shoulder like the skin will pop any second now. Lindsay can taste a strand of black hair that tangles around his teeth like floss before he pulls away leaving a growing red welt in place of his mouth. 

Lindsay doesn’t want to waste any more time once he gets the idea. If he thinks too hard about things it won’t work. He’ll catch himself inside the thick of a bad plan and stop things, grounding himself inside a reality instead of this fucked up fantasy. His hair slicks to his forehead; already plastered to him. He doesn’t bother with it, just lets it glue to himself as he untangles himself from Valentine. Roughly he shoves the kid further down so he’s flat against the floor. Pip splays out on his back - now facing Lindsay and totally bare shy for his grey pants looking far too tight. 

He looks nothing short of a virgin sacrifice, waiting for the next touch. 

“You’re so easy.” 

“And I aint gonna say sorry.” Valentine smirks, Lindays turns on his ass to reach back to the end table. “We been here before though.” 

Thoughts of fast cars and slick mouths flit into the older man’s nearly blank mind. He shakes it loose. Lindsay won’t pretend to assume to know what Valentine knows. His head is a muddled up mess. Lindsay can’t even begin to guess which spots Pip has plundered in his stay here; but somehow his eyes still go wide when Lindsay pulls out a Ruger .22 that he keeps stashed away. An imagined horror of home invasions and self protection but none of it matters now. This is a far cry from an armed robbery. 

The barrel seems too long, much longer than the normal Beretta 87 he carries around with him for jobs. That’s the one that Valentine has seen. The one Valentine’s had his mouth all over. This is a different kind of beast with it’s gunmetal grey glinting in the sunlight. Pip stops breathing, stays perfectly still - it would seem an angel on his back waiting for the hammer to fall except for his cock; which is straining against the thin damp material between his legs. His lips get wet, his eyes get glassy. He doesn’t say a word but his thighs twitch for a second as his toes curl onto themselves. 

“It’s a bit different now, I keep this one loaded.” Lindsay says casually, he gives no emotion, no tell of anything at all. “I’m surprised you didn’t find it already.” He flips the pistol around for a second - then cocks it. The noise echoes inside the room. Valentine pants in a way that is certifiable. His tongue slides across his bottom lip, he doesn’t make a move. For a second he’s totally silent.

Lindsay scoots forward in the most unsexy way he’s ever moved. His knees against the hardwood, one hand holding himself steady, the other hand holding the gun up in the air. Pip’s bare chest raises and deflates so rapidly that Lindsay gets scared he’ll have a heart attack. Can people under twenty have heart attacks? It should matter but it somehow doesn’t because the flush that spreads from Pip’s face down his neck and into his chest makes it seem worth it all. Lindsay can see all his ribs, all his little baby bird bones poking out here and there and the metaphor of something so small and fragile inside such a huge calloused hand pops into the older man’s head. 

Lindsay isn’t sure what to say. Whatever lines he runs inside his mind sound awful, cliche, already used. He doesn’t know how to say anything, finding his mouth bone dry.  _ I could kill you, right now.  _ He thinks. He wants to say it, but he understands he doesn’t have to. He’s already pulled all the stops. Pip’s knees slide apart like butter while Lindsay rests between them, leaning uncomfortably on his heels. Lindsay uses one hand to pull the kid up, tilting the head coated in thick black sweat strands of hair towards his own cock - now matching the one barely concealed under the thin grey fabric. 

“You going to get to it then?” Lindsay brings the gun down from it’s safe place pointed at the second floor to aim it right at the kids head. His finger isn’t on the trigger, but it’s close enough that it would take less than a second. Pip bolts up to attention. His eyes are far too wide for his scrawny face but the look that sits inside it isn’t fear or terror. It’s something much worse as he lowers his face towards the zipper before him. It’s worse than survival instinct setting in, there’s something about him that screams how much he wants this moment. 

Valentine’s skilled fingers don’t shake, even with the barrel of a gun poking him between his sweat drenched brows. It only takes a few seconds for the fingers already so accustomed to this motion to pull Lindsay’s aching hardness from his shorts and springing into the heat. Seconds later he’s enveloped inside a different kind of heat. A warm wetness that seems endless around the perfect pout. Valentine’s right hand is clutching Lindsay at the very base of his cock but his left is mysteriously absent. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out where that wandered off to. 

Lindsay detaches himself from the delicious suction for a second only to backhand the kid across the face with the butt of the gun. It’s so fast and so hard that Valentine can’t brace for it, it’s just too unexpected.  _ This is exactly what he wants.  _ Lindsay knows it. Pip knows it. The kid shudders, his head ricocheting off to the side like a broken puppet. He doesn’t make a sound, only the colliding of the gun with his teeth inside his head.  _ Maybe that was too hard. Too late now.  _

“Did I tell you to touch yourself?” If they are still inside the moment Lindsay does have some lines he needs to say. Things to make the moment continue down this path that ends inside the darkest woods. Valentine rights himself, his lip split right down the center with a steady trickle of blood already dripping down his chin, onto his neck, down to his chest. His head shakes from side to side. His teeth seem to be intact, which is a good thing. Lindsay isn’t sure now that the action is done if he could handle seeing broken teeth inside the lopsided smile every day. Dentist trips would be mandatory if he had cracked something. This game isn’t finished though, Lindsay feels something akin to indigestion when he notices they’re both still hard. Pip, for all his stillness is even bucking his hips - ever so slightly. “Well?” 

Valentine, now with both hands placed on Lindsay’s quivering thighs, brings his bleeding mouth to the still hard cock in front of him, planting soft kisses across every inch of available skin before swallowing the entire length like he’s been doing this for years. The kid’s mouth is even wetter than before, the pooling of his blood under his tongue as he works to gulp what he can without stopping; he moves one tentative hand up to stroke the length that isn’t in his mouth when he pulls off to the tip. It seems like it takes hours, but it can only be minutes of this affection. A tongue laps slowly at the exposed tip - like it’s some kind of treat instead of a threat. There are bloody streaks down Lindsay’s shorts, but he’s too busy seeing stars to care. 

Valentine doesn’t move his hands from Lindsay, instead just letting out his own greedy whine from the back of his throat as he dips his head back down, engulfing the older man so his nose is pressed tightly against the fabric of Lindsay’s shorts. The sound alone is nearly enough to push Lindsay right over the edge. He decides to focus instead on pushing the barrel of the gun flush to Pip’s skull, right above his left ear, he wants to leave a mark - some kind of hard bruise under the sweaty hair that will linger forever. Something that looks exactly like a bullet hole. The idea is disgusting but he understands with an insane clarity what he’s about to do. He feels like he’s gone totally off the deep end. That’s what Valentine does to him. It all lines up. 

“I’m close.”

“I know.” It’s muffled around his length, still stuffed inside the mouth which is open and leaking all kinds of fluids onto the floor in a sickening puddle. Maybe there was some other damage that was unseen, it seems like a lot of blood for just a split in the lip. It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters because now Lindsay’s finger is resting on the trigger. The gun feels like fifty pounds pressed against the head that’s still working between his legs. 

Valentine sucks harder, he tongues the tender skin in all the right spots. He doesn’t stop, doesn’t seem to need to breathe, his eyes are still watery and wide - focused on Lindsay in this way that’s asking him to do something awful. Daring him to do something that neither of them really want. This game is getting too dangerous. 

When it feels like all the air has left the room and Lindsay is finally releasing the thick white ropy strands into the damaged mouth is when he pulls the trigger. One hand pressing the back of the kids skull down further, nose to zipper - his other is holding the gun back, pointed towards the back wall of the living room. The bullet cleaves through the wall that may as well have been Valentine’s bones. It’s so loud that the older man instantly feels the buzz inside his ears, the ache inside his own brain of a tell tale migraine rearing its ugly head. The smell of metal permeates the stench of sex, cutting through it like a knife. 

Valentine doesn’t move. Lindsay understands whatever sound he’s recoiling from Valentine had it worse, the gun much closer to his ear. He’ll be dizzy for the rest of the day if not longer. Pip finishes swallowing what’s inside his mouth, his fingers clutching the thighs in front of him for a few more seconds until they fall unused at his sides with his fingers against the floor. Pip looks limp, broken in some kind of way. Deflated.

_ I did too much,  _ Lindsay thinks.  _ He wanted it. He did. I should have held back,  _ he again untangles himself from Pip, inching himself on his aching heels backwards just a few inches. This time there is even less resistance. The kid looks a mess; his hair is more out of the bun than in, his lips are quivering, red coats the two of them like paint. The bottle of nailpolish has tipped over long ago leaking purple onto the wood. Between the hole in the wall and the mess on the floor Lindsay’s going to have to clean for a week. 

It takes another second to spot the grey underwear, now totally soaked.  _ Fuck. I made him piss himself.  _ Is the first thought that crosses Lindsay’s mind. Not so much angry or upset, more an instant guilt that seeps into his soul. He would probably have done the same thing if he were in Pip’s spot - gun to the head with a cock in your mouth, who wouldn’t be terrified. He lets himself think he took things much too far one more time before he sees it’s not piss. It’s come. Lindsay desperately wants to throw up, feels the danish and coffee from this morning reaching his throat for a second time. He’s made Pip come without anybody touching him. 

“Did you - did you…” 

Valentine is all out of breath like he’s just run a marathon. He looks so sweet and flustered, pink and perfect while he tries to collect himself together. His head only hangs for a second before he can look back into Lindsay’s eyes - shameless as always. 

“I aint never touched myself after you said not to.” When he talks a bubble of spit tinged with red forms and pops. He laughs like it’s the world’s greatest joke. “I just. Yeah. I did. That aint never happened like that before.” 

Lindsay isn’t sure what to say. Of course that never happened before, in what world would this be a regular occurrence? There are no books you can ever read to train yourself for this. There are no pamphlets, no helpful tutorials. This is uncharted land. Lindsay doesn’t think he wants to be here, in the midst of this terrible territory. 

“Can - can I now? That was…” His eyes are still wide, there’s something about them that says he’s not really ready to go again, but might be in a few minutes. Lindsay still can’t find any words. He nods his head. “Can you fuck me next time? When we do that? Or I can just keep that up. I don’t mind. Love how you taste.” His pink fingers are rubbing the stains into his grey pants, thick viscous red, sticky white melding together. His eyes are half lidded. When he’s not talking strands of pink drip from his fat lip with his chin already turning a bruised purple. “Can hit me harder if ya’ want.” 

Lindsay’s hand feels hot. This kid is unbelievable. 


End file.
